Prompt: Mince pies (Michael JG Meathook)

Since the previous chapter and the next are both be about mincemeat pies, I'm doing a bit of an opposite day and this will be a break from them.

Finally, luncheon with Lestrade came to an end and the inspector took his leave, to return to his investigation with my and Watson's observations in hand. Watson put on a cheerful face through the meal and ate as I did, like a starving man, but it was not difficult to see that underneath it he was troubled.

Therefore, when we were free at last, it was with some impatience that I ushered him back into our rooms at the inn and he obliged.

However, when I had turned the key in the latch, granting us a little privacy, he stopped in the middle of the small sitting room we had been provided and insisted, "I am fine, Holmes, do not trouble yourself."

I approached, drawing myself up to my full height and facing him as I might an evasive client, and said with a scoff, "My dear Watson, what do you take me for? The crease in your brow, the turn of your lips, your bowed shoulders; they all tell another story. And for months something has been troubling you."

For an instant the flush of anger flashed across his features; I saw the hard set of a soldier, provoked into action.

I reached out without thinking, as if to restrain him, but by the time my hands reached his, my rational mind prevailed, and I gently lifted his warm, calloused hands in mine with a manner one might describe as beseeching.

He let out a sigh and all of the tension keeping him upright fled with it; his head fell upon my shoulder, the fine hairs tickling at my cheek. I wrapped one arm around his waist to hold him near, though I feared he was already far away.

"Is it Mrs. Watson?" I asked despite myself. "Do you regret…"

I mercifully did not have the chance to finish my sentence, as at the mention of his lawful wife's name, Watson immediately righted himself. Unthinking, my grip tightened around his waist, though I knew at his word I would have no choice but to release him.

And then he captured my lips with his with all the force of his troubled mind, and all thought gave way to chaos. I felt him flush against me and pressing nearer still. I lost my footing and stumbled back against the sofa, for one desperate instant afraid that we would pitch back, but Watson pulled me upright, our lips separated, but bodies no further apart, him now looming over me.

"Don't you dare, Sherlock," he hissed, his cheeks flushed, and a dampness in his wide eyes like smouldering embers. "Of course I regret that I could not be the husband she deserved, but nothing more." He huffed out a shaky sigh. "I know I'm hardly your equal either."

"John!" I could hold my peace no longer. "Is that what this has all been about?"

Watson slumped down onto the sofa, and I followed him to hold him close, though he remained bent forward. I saw his chest rise and fall with ragged breaths, slowly steadying. His hands clenched and unclenched, the muscles still wracked with tension.

With a sighing exhale, he raised his head to face me, unflinching despite the tell-tale marks of shame. "My apologies, Sherlock, that was unworthy of me."

"It was not all unwelcome."

That elicited a fleeting smile, which I longed to keep, but it swiftly gave way to something more serious. "I have just been feeling old and tired of late, as though I am of no use to anyone. It feels not so different from those early days, invalided from the army without health or purpose."

"You know I find your aid invaluable," I remonstrated.

Another ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but he merely shook his head.

I wrapped my arms around him and drew him close against my chest, as though that might somehow convince him, and he wrapped his arms around me to draw nearer still, warm and solid, but I feared there was little more I could do.

"You needn't come to remunerate Mrs. Watson for her waylaid mince pies, that at least I ought to be able to manage alone, though I expect I will be outnumbered."

That caused Watson to sit up in surprise. "You mean she will bring a friend? However did you deduce that?"

"We are not so far from the residence of one of my young relations, who I believe to be a particular friend of Mrs. Watson."

I saw the realisation dawn bright in Watson's eyes. "You are right, we are not so far from St. Mary Mead. In that case, perhaps I'd better come."

"Excellent, my dear Watson!" I clapped him across the back, and briefly pressed my lips to his for good measure.